


Calling for you

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, NSFW section is skippable see author's note, Post-Episode: e022 Colony (The Magnus Archives), Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01, Sexual Content, please tell me if this needs to be upped to explicit I'm really unsure about the rating, sexual fantasy about an ace character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: Martin really ought to start checking if there's anyone else in the Archives after hours, now that he's living there…
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 171





	Calling for you

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW section can be skipped by scrolling down to the paragraph beginning: "He closed his eyes, lassitude sinking into his bones as the adrenaline faded away."

Martin's free hand wrapped itself in the sheets, clutching desperately as his shoulders dug back into the thin mattress, hips canting up and off the bed.

_ Jon's breath was hot against his ear, that deep, sensuous voice moaning low with pleasure as he moved, driving forward into Martin again and again. _

"Jon-" Martin choked out, the barest breath of a name as he moved his own hand in mimicry of his fantasy. "Oh god-"

_ "Martin," his voice was ragged with exertion, "feel so good, want you so much." _

It was, perhaps, a bit pathetic, fantasizing about his boss like this. But Jon had always been unfairly hot, and his protectiveness and worry over Martin ever since he'd moved into the Archives had shown a new side to him that appealed to Martin quite a lot.

_ "Stay with me," Jon said, mouthing at the skin under Martin's ear. "Stay, safe here, we're safe here, stay..." _

Even though it was a product of his own imagination, Martin wasn't entirely sure if fantasy-Jon meant they were safe from discovery by their coworkers or safe from death by worms. Either was an equally compelling narrative for a workplace tryst, and he wasn't all too bothered about the details of it.

"Jon," he whispered into the night air. "Jon, Jon, don't stop..."

He was trying to be quiet about it. He always talked along with his fantasies, immersing himself deeper into the scenes he'd created, but he  _ was  _ technically in a public building right now. Even though it was well after nightfall, and everyone had left the premises hours ago, and the security guards never came down to the basement. It never hurt to be cautious.

_ Jon was moving faster now, panting as he worked himself inside Martin, both of their hearts racing as they built to a mutual climax. "Martin, Martin," he cried. _

"Jon," Martin answered back, gasping for air as he neared the edge. "Jon, Jon, so good, don't stop,  _ Jon!" _

The last word was a shout, torn out of him unwillingly as he twisted his hand just  _ so  _ and finally hit that peak of pleasure, ecstasy washing over him in slowly receding waves. He sagged back into the mattress, sucking in air and lifting his clean hand to brush sweaty hair away from his forehead.

He closed his eyes, lassitude sinking into his bones as the adrenaline faded away. He'd sleep well, after that.

The only warning he had was a brief drumming of footsteps in the hall outside.

_ "Martin!" _ Jon - the real Jon - yelled, bursting through the door with wild eyes and an extinguisher held poised and ready to fire.

Martin yelped, startling from the intrusion and falling off the side of the bed farthest from the door, dragging the sheets and blankets with him.

There was another rush of footsteps, and when Martin got his bearings enough to sit up and look around he found Jon standing over him in a defensive stance, narrowed eyes sweeping the room.

"Where are they?" he said - growled, more accurately, and if Martin hadn't come so recently he was sure that would be doing ridiculous things to his libido. "Did any get you?"

"J-Jon?" Martin stuttered, still trying to catch up. "Where are-  _ what?" _

"The  _ worms, _ Martin, where are the  _ worms," _ Jon insisted, waving the nozzle of the extinguisher around to emphasize his point. "I heard you call for help."

"You- the-  _ oh!" _ Martin's eyes shot wide. "You heard-"  _ Fuck. _ "That was- I didn't-" he spluttered, trying to think of something,  _ anything, _ that might distract Jon from the truth. "It was- um- nightmare!" he finally blurted, and prayed to all that was good in the world that Jon believed him.

Jon lowered the extinguisher slowly, finally taking his eyes off the room to turn and frown at Martin. "Nightmare?"

"Y-yeah," Martin said, and swallowed. "It, um. The worms, they'd gotten into the Institute, and- and they were attacking you. I- I didn't realize I'd actually screamed, I thought it was just in the dream." He crossed the fingers of the hand that was still hidden under the blankets, trapped somewhere around his waist, and used his other to pull the pile higher up his bare chest.

Jon didn't notice his attempt at modesty. He let out a huge, relieved sigh, trailing off to a laugh at the end, and collapsed onto the cot with a sudden boneless exhaustion. The fire extinguisher clinked quietly against the concrete flooring as he set it down.  _ "Christ, _ Martin," he said. "You scared the living daylights out of me."

"Sorry," Martin said, but Jon waved him away.

"Don't be, I'd rather it was a false alarm than the real thing." He glanced over at Martin, smiling slightly, and then frowned again as he got a good look at his face. "Are you sure you're alright? You look feverish."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Martin started to say, but he was cut off halfway through when Jon reached over and pressed his palm against Martin's forehead.

He was still buzzing with residual sensitivity from getting off, and the cool press of Jon's skin against his own sent fizzing tingles down his spine that were more than effective in driving every thought clean out of his head.

"You're burning up," Jon said softly, and  _ oh  _ that was a tone Martin had never heard from him before. Concerned, and gentle, and caring, and Martin never wanted to hear anything else ever again.

Of course, he wasn't  _ actually  _ feverish. What he  _ was  _ was blushing considerably, and Jon was not helping with his predicament at  _ all. _

"I, um," he said, trying to force his tongue to work against the warm buzz that was spreading over his whole body. "I think I was thrashing around a bit. With the nightmare, you know. Bit warm."

"You sure?" Jon asked, in that same soft voice, and Martin's speech failed him entirely. He gave a small nod instead. "Okay." Jon removed his hand from his forehead, carefully, gently, fingers stroking just the barest bit through the fringe of Martin's hair as he did so, and Martin had to fight every instinct in his body to not lean after him, chasing that touch.

He cleared his throat, forcefully beating back every thought in his head that was trying to describe the quiet in the room as  _ intimate. _ "So, um. Thank you for sa- for trying to save me, but... what are you doing here so late? I thought everyone had left hours ago."

"Oh, I, um." Jon looked away from him, staring aimlessly across the room, and- Martin may have been mistaken, but he thought  _ Jon  _ was blushing now, too. "I had some work that needed doing, and I, uh, decided not to leave it till tomorrow." He nodded, once, when he was done, looking pleased with his own answer.

Martin waited a beat, staring at him. Then:

"You fell asleep at your desk again, didn't you."

Jon hesitated, the blush across his cheeks darkening. "Yes," he finally said, sounding resigned. "I fell asleep at my desk again."

Martin bit his lip to hold back the grin that was trying to rise at that. He was apparently unsuccessful, as Jon cast one glance at him and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, laugh all you like," he said, tetchy. "Next time you scream for help I won't bother trying to save you."

Despite his tone, Martin could tell he wasn't serious. It made him feel warm, to know that. "I wasn't laughing," he defended. "Just smiling."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't seem like that big of a distinction, in this case."

"No, it is," Martin insisted. "Laughing would imply I think you falling asleep at your desk is funny, smiling is just a... hm. A fond acknowledgement that you are just being you, and are probably never going to change."

Jon snorted, then looked surprised with himself for doing so. "No matter how much my back protests that I ought to." With that said, he stretched his arms over his head, several joints popping loudly with the motion. Martin tried not to stare too much at the small slip of skin that was revealed as his shirt rode up.

He sighed as he brought his arms down again, and Martin looked away.

"Do you want tea?" Jon asked, apropos of nothing.

"Sorry?"

"Tea," he said again. "I'm going to make some before I head home, hope it wakes me up a bit. Do you want any?"

"Oh." Martin took a second to debate whether his heart could handle spending that much more time in Jon's presence tonight, before deciding that he didn't care. "Yes, that would be lovely. Um. Thanks, Jon."

"Sure," Jon said, standing and grabbing the fire extinguisher from the floor. "Come on, then."

He stepped around the cot and started toward the door. He was halfway there when he stopped and glanced back at Martin, raising an eyebrow when he saw he hadn't moved. "Coming?"

"Um." Martin really, really wished he were better at coming up with things to say on the spot. He could have really used a funny quip right then, or even just a believable excuse. As it was, all he could think to say was the truth. "I'm not wearing any trousers."

"Ah." Jon finally seemed to notice Martin's state of undress, eyes widening and a flush rising in his cheeks. The room was too dark to be sure, but Martin could have sworn Jon's gaze lingered on his bare chest as he spoke. "I'll, um. Meet you in the breakroom, then," he said.

Martin gave a short, jerky nod, smiling tightly. "Probably best.”

"Right." Jon turned on his heel, pivoting to the door again and taking a few long strides toward it. He paused on the threshold, though, hesitating with one foot in the hallway. "You, uh," he said, not looking at Martin, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe twice. "You should probably keep this locked in the future, as long as you're living here." Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

Martin fell back against the side of the bed with a groan, squeezing his eyes tight shut as though that could help block out the utter mortification that was pouring over him in waves.

_ I heard you call for help. _ Christ. Of all the ways to be caught getting off in the office, this had to be one of the worst.

Still, he had to count himself lucky that he hadn't  _ actually  _ been caught. If Jon had figured out what he had  _ really  _ been doing...  _ why  _ Martin had been screaming his name...

It didn't bear thinking about.

Yes, he mused, as he untangled the blankets from around himself, scrambling to his feet and looking around for any semi-presentable clothes he could throw on to go meet Jon. He would  _ definitely  _ be locking the door in the future.


End file.
